Hugs and Kisses

"Once in awhile, right in the middle of an ordinary life, love gives us a fairy tale."
- Anonymous quotation

Five years ago I met the nicest big Bear. [sigh]

Wishing you a little bit of your own fairy tale this weekend. Mwah!

A great race

Pre-race, The Great Race of Agoura Hills / Deena Kastor 5K

[This post also at http://runwendeerun.blogspot.com/; this version with additional embellishment commentary]

I find myself looking at these pictures of  me in orange and thinking three things:

- 'Wow. I look like a pumpkin'

- 'Gee. If I went with an all-black ensemble, maybe it would make me look taller'

- 'Hm. I wonder if I can get away with wearing just the tights. Would that be worse? Oh, I just don't know.'

Oh, here's a fourth:

- 'Ooo, okay.At least they're nicer than the pictures of me running!'

I'd been worrying about the weather: Would it be too cold? Would we get rain? At the 9am start, temps were still down to 45 - 50F. Pretty chilly for Southern California (see those gloves?), but great weather for running!

We got there early, wandered around the fitness expo at the finish line, then walked uphill to the start. I'd forgotten how steep that hill was (the walk uphill is a pretty decent warm-up) and commented that if the finish was up *that* hill, I'd probably be pretty cranky.

J agreed, knowingly.

While we were waiting for the start, the announcer briefed us on the course terrain (I was glad that I'd checked elevation maps before, to be prepared for the uphill parts) and the history behind the course:

The Great Race is proud to name its 5K after former Agoura High School standout Deena Kastor, who set the 5K WORLD RECORD at 14:54 in 2002. Deena grew up running in The Great Race. She won the bronze medal in the marathon at the 2004 Olympics and holds U.S. records for the 5K, 8K, 10K, 15K, half marathon and marathon. (from race website)

Deena rocks!

Crossing the starting line. Note: The start is in the middle of a quiet neighborhood, inflatable starting arch,  loudspeakers and everything. 

They say the Great Race is a fast race, and it is. The start is downhill. Then there's a gentle incline for about a mile, then a good looong downhill stretch. The turn up Thousand Oaks Blvd just before Mile 3 is uphill for a little bit, then the finish line is all downhill. The last time I ran this, 5 years ago, I PR'ed, without having trained very deliberately. This time, I'd set my pace and finished about 20 seconds or so early, as well. If we were to designate my current running phase as 2.0, this race would be again be a PR.

I stayed back far enough to not get trampled by the speedsters and got into my groove. Like the Rose Bowl race, at about a Mile 1, I could pick out others that were running at about my pace, and they kept me company along the way. Never mind that I was keeping pace with two gentlemen who were 30 years my senior; Slow and mellow gets it done. I let myself get frustrated thinking about how quickly others are going (not while I'm actually running, fortunately, but afterwards), but if I can still be running at this pace in another 30 years with my original hips, knees and ankles, I'll keep to my wog (walk/jog) routine.

Note to self: Don't give in to the temptation to check on friends' times. Just know that they're FAST.

The after-race party is fantastic. Dole is a major sponsor, so there's lots of fresh fruit, juice, fruit cups. There were lots of booths, lots of food. I understand that Whole Foods has a breakfast buffet as well. By the time I'd finished, caught up with a friend I ran into after crossing the finish line ('small world' moment), collected my medal, and found my BigBear, we realized that it was more busy than we were up for. And since J hadn't run, he really couldn't have any of the food. And you just don't go nomming down food in front of hungry bears!

Race time: 41:40

(3:40 run / 2:00 walk) 8x

We had booked a room for that night, so I showered and we hit our favority restaurants in the area. We drove out to Zuma, where I'd spent so much time before and watched the surfers for a bit. The sunny Sunday never materialized, so we napped. Our trip out to Santa Barbara will have to wait for another weekend...

Sakura

I'd been thinking of cherry blossoms, as I usually do this time of year, and had an idea that needed to be acted upon. So I ordered sakura paper punches ...


... that arrived on the 11th or so. Wouldn't you know.




And where I might normally let new art toys sit a while, to get acclimated to their surroundings ...



there was a flurry of punching and gluing and sewing that just absolutely needed to happen...
as a salve for the sadness. Of all that happened, March 11th, 2011.

Puncha puncha puncha.

Wistful Wednesday

Last night, I sat through the presentation of my school's new mission statement and strategic plan. I've been involved with writing mission statements several times in my past, individually and as part of a group, and you know how that tends to go, don't you? You end up with lots of words. Paragraphs with lots and lots of words that talk about 'this is what we do'. You start waving your hands in the air, as if to abbreviate words with gestured circles in space. There comes a point where the words smother the energy of purpose and intent, and all that's left is a wispy strand of smoke – – you could try to capture that, but in grasping at it, you completely break up its form and energy. Eyes glaze over.

Luckily, what we have, from a flashing spark of inspiration and a flurry of energized email messages, is a message that seems to resonate with the school.

Learn to Create. Influence Change.

I like it. I don't have to refer back to my employee handbook to recite it. Would anyone actually make me recite it? Is that what it would come to? I don't think so. But I can rely on it to guide me. I can push and pull at it to meet changing demands and situations I run into with my students; it can be a steady compass pointing to our True North. And beyond the words themselves, I am even more appreciative of the collaborative, passionately creative spirit in which this phrase was crafted.

For the record, its subtitle, one that I really liked, sadly did not make the cut: Nothing rhymes with Orange.

Oh well.

So, I was sitting there, listening to the ideas and pillars, the plans, the challenges, the call to challenge ourselves as an institution, as we challenge our students, to be doggedly rigorous in tackling the task at hand.

Whew.

And there's the mission statement, that is plain and strong, yet, as our President commented, leaves plenty of room to breathe.

Room. To. Breathe.

And then I sat there, listening to the words, thankful for our president's background in theater, the passion and conviction, the pauses, the tempo and cadence. In a community where we are all so very keenly sensitive to visual expression, what an experience it is to have someone who will speak with as much expression, for us to be delighted in a different way, another path way to our souls.

So, if you come back and find me pondering about how people learn to create and how we can teach to influence change, or musing about how nothing rhymes with Orange, that's where that comes from.

And, for the record, nothing really rhymes with Purple, either.

===


At Art Center, we have 14–week terms (three per year), and graduate at the end of each term. The beginning of each term is brimming with newness, new students wandering the halls, looking more than a little dazed, learning skills in the machine shop and lugging around oversized drawing boards. The middle of the term is weary: midterm presentations. The last two weeks are a mad frantic sprint: final projects needing to be both physically created and orally presented, the wild, chaotic explosion that ultimately cleans itself up as Graduation Show. The end of the term is anxious with interviews and bittersweet in seeing another group of young artists and designers leave. The 14 weeks seem to go quicker and quicker each term, and while there is a rhythm to the peaks and lulls, let me tell you, it's not like the rolling of the ocean (imagine my hands waving, hula-like, gesturing: 'The ocean") –- it's a rollercoaster. It all starts to blur together, and boy, has the time gone by quickly.

So, for your reference, we're well into Spring term, in the post-midterm lull of week 8.

I've been reading and editing resumes, introductory letters and personal statements, because, well, that's what I do about week 8 of each term. I spend a lot of time asking people to think: What do you really enjoy doing? What do you want to pursue? What can you show as examples of the skills you say you have? How can we help create a compass for you, so you can go out and earn a living and, well, influence change?

I probe and ask 'Why?' a lot. I press and have students dig, to tell the stories —their stories — so that others will remember them. I build trust and comfort, so that secrets can bubble up: 'What I really want to say is this…'. We work so that poignant stories and unexpressed yearnings can find a strong and certain voice.

Right. That's what I do.

Driving home, I smirked to realize that I was wishing for a little bit of that myself: time to sit and think and talk through the ideas – – to someone else. You see the last three paragraphs before this one? I haven't quite figured out how to put those ideas neatly onto my resume. What do you I really enjoy doing? What do you I want to pursue? What examples can you I show? What's the unexpressed yearning?

[sigh]

You can only get so far talking to yourself, driving in the darkness, headed east on the 210.

I know, because, well, that's what I do.

Out and About / Hawaii, Part 2

No, we didn't to Hawaii again. I'm just a little slow in posting.

So, this trip, J took along his tripod, to spend more serious time taking photos.
Here he is taking a shot at Mokoliʻi , aka 'Chinaman's Hat':


(Why yes, the horizon DOES dip to the right in Hawaii. Didn't you know?)

and world famous Diamond Head



He set up the tripod at took posed family photos at the Christmas potluck as well. There were lots of nice photos of everyone with their families and I sent copies of CDs with the pics back to the gang in Hawaii.

So my mom and dad said they looked at the images on the CD.  I asked if they liked the video.

They go, "Video? You mean the slide show? Yeah, we saw the slide show".
And I go, "No, the video. Of the imu. Like a Movie".
And they go, "Hemm. Moo-oovie. Like a slideshow of all the pictures from the imu? Pictures that move?Yeah. We saw the slideshow".

I think, "Mmmf, that's a 'No' on the video".

My dad gets on the phone: "Yeah, lots of nice pics that Jan took. The upside-down orchid. The anthuriums with raindrops. The coconut. The mosquito punk..."
I go, "Hey, those were my pictures."
Dad: "No, I saw J taking the pictures out in the front with his camera."
Me: "I was taking pictures, too. I have a camera. I'm just more sneaky. Those pictures were in a folder labelled 'Wendees pics'".
Dad, the newfangled computerese thought not processing: "Heh."

I think, "Yeah, that's a 'No', too. I am SO chopped liver".

Dad: "Yeah. Fantastic pics that J took. Whoooo, and lots of 'em. Fantastic."

Me, thinking, "Swell".

Rose Bowl 5K

February 6, bright and early Sunday morning! We woke up at 4:30am (groan), spent lots of time (me) on the couch rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, got ready, packed up all our running/camera gear and drove out to Pasadena. 

Is it just me that's imagining Brent Musburger saying, "The Rose Bowl - The Granddaddy of them All!"? Just me? Oh, okay.
Brent's a Wildcat too, by the way.

Yes, I found orange to wear, though I think it ended up closer to 'tangerine'. Close enough.

What a great day for a race! It was cool when got to the arroyo, but as the sun rose, things warmed up. It was sunny and warm by race time. 70 degrees in February! That's why we live in Southern California.

I didn't actually remember my two previous 5K's well enough to guage how things might go. They were a blur; though I do remember rather vividly in each, a point where I thought, "Oh, yuck! Enough with this RUNNING (continuously) stuff! Geh!", and then I'd stop running and walk. When you've trained and expected to run all the way through, that's discouraging... Even though I felt reasonably strong and was happy with my decision to not run it continuously, it's a little hard to be sure how well my running plan (run 4min15sec, walk about 2min30secs, 7 times) would actually play out. My last few runs on my home route were pretty tough; I wasn't quite sure what to expect on race day. I'd commented to a friend that I was hoping that having the energy of a crowd of runners would buoy me ...

One of the walking segments.

... and it did, along with thoughts and prayers from friends over the weekend.

Prayers. People sent up prayers for me? I decided to be grateful to have devout friends sending up prayers for me. Every little bit would help.

Normally, I get bored after a while, during the stretch between 2 miles and 2-1/2. Or my feet start to hurt, or my right calf tightens up. Not that morning, though.

Home stretch!

Nice and strong the whole race.

When I settled into walking after the first run segment, I watched hoards of runners pass by me, swelling well outside of the running lane. After a few more intervals, it had thinned out around me, and I'd play catch up with others that were running/walking at about the same pace. They'd pull away when I walked, and I'd gain on them when I'd run.

I was doing my thing, watching the early morning golfers, smelling the trees, getting 'Woot!'s from the non-event runners running in the opposite direction as the race, watching the 10K leaders blaze by ("Wow. They're fast"). All of a sudden, we'd made our turn onto the long return leg of the course and passed the 2mile mark. I thought, "Wow, that was quick!".

I smirked to myself when I made a mental note of that, for the next time I was complaining to myself about 'only' being 24 - 30 minutes into a run.

There was one particularly tall guy wearing lots of blue and a large blue hydration backpack that was walking along that I'd get close to, but never quite caught up with. Trailing him got me through to the home stretch. 

I remember the last race I did, in Agoura, where the finish was uphill, then you entered a stadium, and THEN had to do a half-lap to the finish. Not being able to see the finish as you approached and the uncertainty of what was ahead, and THEN having to do that half-lap almost did me in. I was a little concerned as I approached the Rose Bowl, not quite sure how long the ramp was onto the field, and then how much further the 50 yard line was from there. Little concerns can become obsessions you're running.

How. Much. Further? Geh.

As it turns out, the ramp leading in was incredibly short and then, just like that [snap!], I could see the finish. I knew it was the finish because there were people just beyond that point that were no longer running.

"Oh, easy peasy!", I thought. And so it was! I had guzzled two bottles of water and was pinching off tufts of Rose Bowl turf to take with me in a ziplock baggie by the time TheBigBear caught up with me.

I clocked myself at the finish at 45:19, right where I had planned. That ended up being my official race time, as well. It was by far the slowest 5K I've run, but also the strongest and most enjoyable, throughout. And the memories are vivid, not so much a blur. So I'm chalking this up as a good solid Win.

Already planning for the next one in late March.

Notes:

My run was written up on Art Center's blog here and here. Much thanks to Lara Warren for that. And thanks so very much to you for the encouragement, donations, and, yes, prayers.